When Dad was Coming Home

When Dad was Coming Home

When Dad was Coming Home One of my earliest childhood memories was that of waiting outside our house for my Dad to come home from work in the evening. We had a long gravel driveway leading to the side of our house and on that same side yard stood a big tree. The tree had some low limbs that we could climb even when we were young – 4 or 5 years old. My brother, Bob, and I would wait for our Dad by climbing up and sitting in a branch of that tree until we could see Dad’s car start to pull into our driveway and hear the sound of the gravel beneath the wheels. When that time came, we would jump down from our tree branch as fast as we could and run over to Dad’s car. We couldn’t wait for him to get out of his car! I still remember the excitement I felt each night anticipating Dad pulling into our driveway, then getting out of the car and giving us, first, his big signature grin and then, quickly after, scooping us up in his arms for the coming home hug. I was so, so happy to get that hug from Dad, I think I probably would have camped out forever – or at least since breakfast

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